3S2\ ^ 







GUSTAV KOBBE 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap.:.lA'^^right No 

Shelf...^.llfi8 
i^Hto 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



MY ROSARY. 



MY ROSARY 
AND OTHER 
POEMS. 



By GHstav 
"Kobbe 




i MAY 271896. 

GEORGE H. RICHMOND CO. 
NEW YORK, - 12 EAST 15TH 
STREET. 



MDCCCXCVI. 






Copyright i8g6 by 
George H. Richmond Co. 



PREFACE. 



Tliis book is, I believe, conspicuous for one merit — the 
poems in it are very few in number. 

But after every reading from my own writings which 
I have given, many of my listeners have asked me where 
they could procure my poems and stories in collected 
form. I was obliged to answer that they were scattered 
through the pages of the various periodicals to which 
I contribute. I have now, at the instance of several 
ladies, whose kindness in this matter it would be ungra- 
cious to pass over without my most grateful acknowledgments, 
collected these few poems which, scattered though they were, 
have, as they appeared from time to time, won me many good 
friends, and will, I hope, in this form win me even more. 

My thanks are due to the publishers of the Cosmopolitan 
Magazine, the Youth's Companion, Harper'' s Weekly, Harper's 
Bazar and the Leslie Weekly, for permission to re-publish 
some of the poems in this book. 
Morristown, N. J., M^ijr i8; 1896. 

GUSTAV KOBBE. 



TO A WOMAN. 



CONTENTS. 



PREFACE 9 

DEDICATION lo 

MY ROSARY 13 

TO A LITTLE GIRL 14 

TRANQUILITY 15 

'' SO WE'RE TOGETHER LOVE " 16 

HOMEWARD 17 

TO HILDEGARDE 18 

BEFORE A PORTRAIT 19 

PREMONITION 20 

IN WINTER 21 

THE LADY OF THE HOUSE AR-TUR 22 

FOR A SUN-DIAL IN A GARDEN 23 

LIFE 24 

DEATH 25 

ACKNOWLEDGING A LADY'S PHOTOGRAPH 26 

" WTE BIST DU MEINE KOENIGIN " 27 

THE COURT CRIER 28 

THE WATCHER 29 

WPIALER PLUCK 30 

FROM THE HARBOR HILL 31 

TFIE YANKEE WHALER 32 

AT PROVINCETOWN 33 

OBEDIAH FOLGER 35 

THE LIGHT-PIOUSE 36 



MV ROSARY. 
Like as a pious maiden tells her beads 

I daily count how oft I gaze on thee ; 
For as a silent prayer thy beauty pleads 

And saint-like intercedes with Him for me. 

And I who love thee ! — When at last I face 
His awful presence, I serene shall be ; 

For, though my life seems wholly void of grace, 
I've loved all that is eood. in loving: thee. 



13 



TO A LITTLE GIRL. 
Her eyes are like forget-me-nots, 

So loving-, kind and true ; 
Her lips are like a pink sea-shell 

Just as the sun shines through ; 

Her hair is like the waving grain 
In summer's golden light ; 

And, best of all, her little soul 
Is, like a lily, white. 



14 



TRANQUILITY. 
I dreamed I was a shepherd; free of care 

I lay at noon beneath a spreading tree. 
No sound was borne upon the hazy air 

Except the drowsy droning of a bee. 

I\Iy sheep were resting in a woody nook 

Where ghnting sunbeams o'er soft mosses 
played; 

My dog was lapping water at a brook 

Along whose banks the grasses lightly swayed. 

A blooming landscape through the valley spread, 
O'er which the south wind sighed an amorous 
tune — 
A joyous, soft, alluring bridal bed. 

Bedecked for Spring and Summer's honey- 
moon. 

I looked above me, and there burst in view 
Beyond the boughs a reach of placid sky — 

A limpid, luminous, unruffled blue, 

Like some far sea whereon the breezes die. 

I 'woke, still looking upward, and discerned 
Why peace had reigned supreme throughout 
my rest : 

Mine eyes met hers — my face to hers upturned, 
I'd slumbered tranquilly upon her breast. 



15 



"SO WE'RE TOGETHER, LOVE." 
So we're together, love, the sky 

Seems blue though it be grey; 
And winter's unkind voice assumes 

The gracious speech of May; 
And be it sad or singing weather, 
We reck not, love, so we're together I 

So we're together, love, the world 

Moves sweetly on in tune; 
Each flower becomes a dew-washed rose, 

Each month a balmy June; 
And be it sad or singing weather, 
We reck not, love, so we're together ! 

And if together, love, at last 

We pass beyond the pale 
Of this fair earth to worlds beyond 

We'll falter not nor fail; 
For, be it sad or singing weather. 
We reck not, love, so we're together ! 

So we're together, love, the sky 
Seems blue though it be grey; 

And winter's unkind voice assumes 
The gracious speech of May; 

And be it sad or singing weather. 

We reck not, love, so we're together ! 



i6 



ilOMEWARD. 
Clouds crimson-barred 
Like the woods red-scarred 
On a hill-slope in the fall ; 

A wild, shrill note 
From a sea-bird's throat 
And a heron's mournful call ; 

A murmuring reach 
With a curving beach, 
Like an eye-brow of the sea ; 

A prow up-curled, 
A sail half-furled, 
And the peace of a sheltered lee ; 

A sudden hush 
And the last deep flush 
Of dusk in the swarthy west ; 

A fringe of sedge 
Near the water's edge, 
And the cot where my loved ones nest ; 

A sweet, low call, 
And a faint foot-fall, 
And a form as I swiftly come ; 

Near mine a face, 
Then the tender grace 
Of a kiss. — And I am home ! 



17 



TO HILDEGARDE. 
I know why our Lord Jesus spake 

Words that should find a shrine 
In every loving parent's heart 

As they have found in mine: 

That children freely be allowed 

Unto His arms to come. 
Because theirs was the heritage 

Of His own heavenly home. 

There must have been among the throng 

That gathered 'round Him there 
A little girl whose brow, like your's, 

Was crowned with golden hair; 

Whose eyes shone out beneath that brow 

So deep, so brown, so clear ; 
Whose voice would through the saddest hour 

Ring with a note of cheer. 
Or else our good Lord Jesus spake 

Those words of tender grace, 
As, through the veil of centuries. 

He saw your little face, 

Uplifted with a childish faith 

That seemed to him to say : 
'' Lord Jesus, I will follow Thee 

Where'er Thou"lt lead the way !" 



i8 



BEFORE A PORTRAIT. 

Knovv'st thou some far off, golden, Southern 

clime 
Where katydids and low-voiced crickets chime 
What hour the moon hangs large upon the sky 
And merry elfins to their revels hie ? 

Thou art so like this beauteous Southern land ! 
There sun-lit waves purl o'er an amber strand 
As golden ringlets ripple o'er thy brow. 
And he on whom thy love bestowest thou, 

(Who from thy lips may sip the perfumed wine, 
Whose eyes may worship at thine inner shrine) 
Blest he to pluck the fruit from thy fair stem, 
Thou, on whose brow rests Beauty's diadem! 



19 



PREMONITION. 
I. 
Why is it that a sudden hush 

Falls on the young wife's singing ; 
What calls to her fair face a blush 

Like roses softly clinging ? — 
The echo of a cooing note, 

That last night through her dreams did float, 
Her, untold rapture bringing ? 

II. 

Soft as a little heap of snow 

There lies upon her lap, 
With satin band and furbelow 

The daintiest wee cap. 

And, as she adds a bit of lace. 

Her fingers swiftly fly; 
A tender light shines from her face, 

She croons a lullaby. 



20 



IN WINTER. 
The earth is sleeping sweetly 

Beneath the wrap that round 
Her fair form so completely 

The snow has softly wound. 

She draws her breath so lightly 
Because she dreams, I wis, 

How Spring will come so knightly 
To wake her with his kiss. 



21 



THE LADY OF THE HOUSE AR-TUR. 

(an EGYPTIAN MUMMY.) 

Here lies the lady of the house Ar-Tur 
Who in majestic grace and beauty strode 
Through Ahk-mim's sacred temples, who abode 

Beside the laughing waters of Namur. 

With princes, warriors, slaves, a stately train, 
Oft through her palace corridors she swept; 
A king, Ramses himself, the ''Great" yclept, 

Wooed her and, though a king, wooed her in vain. 

Now all who choose to linger as they pass 
May see the proudest beauty of her day — 
Ah ! Where are those who gladly owned her 
sway — 

A shrunken mummy in a case of glass. 

^ :f; * * * 

Ye fortune-favored, gather here beside 
The casket of the Lady of Ar-Tur ! 
Far from the laughing waters of Namur, 

What now avail her riches, beauty, pride ? 



FOR A SUN-DIAL IN A GARDEN. 
If here I pause a moment in my race 

With time, if here forget to mark the hours, 
Tis 'cause I love to linger in this place 

And watch for her— the mistress of these 
flowers. 



23 



LIFE. 
Who knows aught of that realm of bliss 

Of which the preachers glibly tell ? 

Who knows for certain there's a Hell ?- 
Who knows of any hell but this ? 



24 



DEATH. 

Haul down the flag, the flag of life ! 
Weary of this unending strife, 
I'll strike my colors, yield my sword 
To Death, the ever-conquering lord. 



25 



ACKNOWLEDGING A LADY'S PHOTOGRAPH. 
I have received your photograph 
Accompanied by your autograph, 
And haste my warmest thanks to send 
To you, my very charming friend ; 

Who's found (this all will sure agree on) 
What baffled old Ponce de Leon: 
The fountain of eternal youth ! — 
Now don't protest, for it's the truth. 



26 



"WIE BIST DU MEINE KOENIGIN." 
<'Wie bist Du Meine Koenigin" — 

Tis thus the song begins, 
With which, as writ by INIaster Brahms, 

Our hearts fair Julia wins. 

And were I to describe the grace. 

Which to this song she lends, 
I'd simply echo ''wonnevoll" — 

The word with which it ends. 



27 



THE COURT CRIER. 
It was a haughty lawyer 

Of Elizabeth, N. J., 
Who sought upon a witness 

To vent his spleen one day. 

The witness quick retorted 
With merry wit and chaff 

And soon against the lawyer 
Had raised a hearty laugh. 

Loud laughed the judge and jury 
The others louder yet — 

All save the ancient crier 
Who kept his features set, 

Until to him the lawyer 

Called in his sneering way : 

''How is it, Mr. Perkins, 
You do not laugh to-day .?" 

Then quothe the solemn Perkins 
(And never winked an eye): 

"1 am not paid to laugh, sir, 
I'm only paid to cry !" 



28 



THE WATCHER. 
A watcher on the harbor hill 
Gazed out upon the sea, until 
The misty draperies of night 
Hid the horizon from his sight. 

And thus he watched days, months and years, 
His eyes undimmed by coward tears, 
He saw ships go and come again. — 
For his own ship he watched in vain. 

Till, w^hen he'd passed through every stage 
Of youth and manhood to old age. 
There hove one day a craft in sight 
That thrilled him with a strange delight. 

With every inch of canvass spread 
A favoring breeze, all clear o'er head, 
Her quarters flecked with fleecy foam, 
The good ship fairly leapt toward home. 

Thus on and on she sped until 

Her skipper saw upon the hill ■ 

The watcher ; straightway from on high. 

He let her gaudy pennant fly. 

But lo ! No signal came from him 
Who stood upon the hill a dim, 
Pale form outlined against the sky — 
Can he the pennant not descry ? 

:}c * * * * * 

Just as the good ship had at last 
Come home from her long voyage, there'd passed 
A faithful soul across the sea, 
Whose shore is immortality. 
29 



WHALER PLUCK. 
A whaler from Nantucket town, 

He had the worst o' luck, 
He sailed far south, around the Horn, 

But not a whale he struck. 

Three years he cruised — north, east and west, 

From Pole to Torrid Zone, 
But, when he laid his course for home, 

He'd neither oil nor bone. 

Yet, as he sailed around Brant Point, 

He set his pennant high ; 
And, when he tied up to the wharf, 

He lustily did cry : 

"We've come home clean as we went out. 

We didn't raise a whale, 
An' we ain't got a bar'l o' ile — 

But we've had a damn fine sail ! " 



30 



FROM THE HARBOR HILL. 
*' Is it a sail V she asked. 
^'No," I said. 
"Only a white sea-gull with its pinions spread." 

''Is it a spar?" she asked. 
''No," said I. 
"Only the slender light-house tower 'gainst the 
sky." 

" Flutters a pennant there .?" 
"No," I said. 
"Only a shred of cloud in the sunset red." 

" Surely a hull, a hull !" 
"Where?" I cried. 
"Only a rock half-bared by the ebbing tide." 

" 'Wait you a ship .?" I asked. 
"Aye !" quoth she. 
' ' The Harbor Belle ; her mate comes back to 
marry me. 

"Surely the good ship hath 
Met no harm?" 
Was it the west wind wailed or the babe on her 
arm ? 

"The Harbor Belle !" she urged. 
Nought said I. — 
For I knew^ o'er the grave o' the Harbor Belle the 
sea-gulls fly. 



31 



THE YANKEE WHALER. 
A Yankee whaler of some renown 
(His hailing port was Provincetown) 
Had a row with a British officer. 
I don't know just where it did occur, 
But I seem to have heard the shell-backs say 
'Twas somewhere in South Am-er-i-cay. 

The Britisher swore with all his might, 

The Yank must apologize or fight. 

But the Yank, he didn't scare a bit; 

In a sort o' half prophetic fit, 

He just made this entry in his log : 

"To-morrow we'll have plum duff and grog." 

As challenged party he had the right 

To choose the ''weepins" wherewith to fight; 

So fast to his pet harpooning iron 

He made ten fathom of good stout line, 

Prepared another for his foe. 

And said, *'Now" let him sound or blow ! '' 

When they met, you should ha' heard him cry. 
As he raised his pet harpoon on high : 
''Stand by now, mate, for to haul him in, 
When I strikes him under the starboard fin ! 
We'll try him out like any whale ! " 
The Britisher straightway turned tail. 

The Yank, he entered on his log : 

"Plum duff, all hands piped aft for grog ! " 



32 



AT PROVINCETOWN. 
^'My husband? Aye, my husband, man ! 

A year ago this day 
He sailed; and him and me just wed." 

Yet she was old and gray. 

*'The youngest master of the fleet ; 

But ask about the town 
If better skipper sails the sea 

Than Captain Ephraim Brown. 

"I've knowed him most since he was born; 

We was but boy and girl 
When he first bore me in his skiff 

Through wind and wave and swirl. 

"And then he went before the mast, 

And then became a mate, 
And then — why, I'd growed up with him — 

Here I would watch and wait. 

* 'Across the bar off Highland Light 
The wind might whistle hoarse — 

Twas by my figure on this hill 
He'd always lay his course. 

"Then, when he called a ship his own, 

(She's named for me) he said: 
'Why, Jennie, ain't it now most time 

That you an' me was wed ? ' 



33 



''And we was wed in the old church 

Just yonder, up along-. 
(I seems to hear the parson's voice, 

The organ and the song). 

''One week — and he put out to sea, 

A year ago this day; 
The youngest master of the fleet ! " — 

Yet she was old and gray. 

"My husband? Aye, my husband, man 

Just past a year we're wed. 
Ask any one you mind." I asked 

The first I met. He said: 

"Why, that's the crazy Widow Brown. 

She's always watchin', though 
Her husband's ship was lost at sea 

Some thirty years ago." 



34 



OBEDIAH FOLGER. 

Twas Obediah Folger 

O' the whaling bark Apoller, 
Who, when his shipmates hove the lead, 
Straightway began to holler : 

"Heave-ho, the lead; Heave-ho, Heave-ho ! 
We're sailing over so-and-so, 
I knows the taste o' the mud below, 
Heave-ho, the lead ! Heave-ho ! 

'Twas Obediah Folger 

Whose shipmates thought it very slick 
With rich Nantucket garden muck 
To besmear the lead quite thick. 

"Heave-ho, the lead ! Ha, ha ! Ho, ho ! 
Will Obediah Folger know 
This time the taste o' the mud below ? 
Heave-ho, the lead ! Heave-ho ! " 

'Twas Obediah Folger 

O' the whaling bark Apoller ' 
Who, when he tasted of the muck. 
Straightway began to holler: 

"Heave-ho, the lead! Heave-ho! Heave-ho! 
Nantucket's sunk ! I know, I know, 
Marm Starbuck's squash-bed is just below ! 
Heave-ho, the lead ! Heave-ho ! " 

'Twas Obediah Folger 

Whose shipmates entered on the log 
This incident, then went below 
For to brew for him a grog. 

"Heave-ho, the lead ! Heave-ho! Heave-ho! 
It's old Jamaicy rum, I know 
From the way it warms me up below ! 
Heave-ho, the lead ! Heave-ho ! " 



35 



THE LIGHT-HOUSE. 
Tis like a patient, faithful soul 
That, having reached its saintly goal 
And seeing others far astray 
In storms of darkness and dismay, 
Shines out o'er life's tempestuous sea, 
A beacon to some sheltered lee — 
The haven of eternity. 



36 



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